Dead All Round
by starstruck94
Summary: After Dead and Gone. With the fairy world forever closed and the possibility that Dermot is after her, Sookie isn't in top form. Plus, her almost-boyfriend has a secret he's willing to die to protect. What's a girl to do? Read and review!
1. Side Effects

Dead all Round__

I was running. Running in total darkness. I couldn't see, but I sure could feel the wispy tree branches whipping me as I ran on. My legs were wet and sticky and felt like Swiss cheese. I could feel a presence that terrified me, so I shrieked and screamed. I bellowed until my voice was hoarse. I couldn't feel the presence behind me. I turned around, and instead fell right into the arms of Thing One with such force I couldn't catch my breath to scream. Thing Two, jumped out of the shadows and yanked my hair back. She sank her sharp teeth into my exposed shoulder. I screamed again.

"Lover, wake up! Sookie! Sookie, please! Wake up!" called an agitated voice.

That's how I awoke in Eric's broad white arms, sobbing my poor little human heart out.

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Eric was stroking my sweaty hair as I neared the hiccupping stage of crying. He was barefoot but otherwise fully dressed in his Fangtasia tee and requisite jeans. I could feel our bond like a titanium cord tethering us together. It had grown stronger as we had exchanged blood during our week-long sex marathon after… Things. It had been panic-stricken need for closeness. In other words, pure (physical) bliss. I hadn't seen Eric in a few days and the bond was like a content puppy dog now that he was near. My tears dwindled down.

"My love, I am sorry I couldn't come to you sooner. Victor brought news from the King and I could not leave," he said. His blazing blue eyes were staring into my own. I couldn't hold his gaze, so I shifted onto my side. Cowardly, I know, but it's just too overwhelming.

"They have not stopped?" Eric asked, referring to my all-too-vivid nightmares.

Well, nah. What do you think? I admonished myself for being so snippy. Eric is the only thing keeping the torn and teary Sookie Stackhouse from doing something silly. That, and purgatory is not my kind of place. I like to know exactly where I am; being stuck in limbo aint one of them. Belatedly, I realized I hadn't answered his question. Not trusting myself to speak levelly, I shook my head. Eric rolled me over and placed a hand flat across my cheek.

"Eric," I whispered after a natural silence, "Will you stay here tonight?"

I could feel him smile into my hair. Our bond was reverberating (an old Calendar word, I haven't checked it in a while), it was so powerful. I don't think it influenced me greatly in asking Eric to stay. At least, if it did, I don't care. For now.

"Of course, my Lover," was all he could get out before I pulled his beautiful golden head down to mine and kissed him for all I was worth.


	2. Sookie Goes Wild

**Disclaimer: All Charlaine Harris's. I'm just taking them out for a spin**

**A/N: Lots of love and thanks to my reviewers. I'm guessing at the limited amount that the first chapter was crap—not to worry. I hope this one is better. I spent a lot of time on it, so fingers crossed ;)**

**Also, I'm in the lookout for a beta… But I'm too embarrassed to ask So to save me some angst, if you've got spare time and wouldn't mind wading through my crappy writing, message me!**

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I have a plan.  
Not a dream, seeing as my dreams consist of nightmares, when I actually manage to sleep. I've become something of an insomniac. Oh no, I have a mastermind plan that is easy as pie. I'm just not gonna think about _anything_. I'm gonna do. No more Sulky Sookie, no more woe-is-me Sookie. Sure, I was tortured to the point of death— so are thousands of other people. You don't see them crying their eyes out and waking up screaming. Not on television, anyway. Move over, Dr. Phil. Sookie Stackhouse is in town.  
Trouble is, my mind is being recalcitrant (thank you, Word of the Day). I just can't stop thinking about Things (otherwise known as Lochlan and Neave) and the more I try _not _to think about it, the more I do. I'm also trying very hard to forget a certain six foot five expanse of pure magnificence. This is how I found myself dolled up in my good jeans, killer heels and tight long sleeved blue shirt (that showcases my Natural Bounty) in my car, headed for Shreveport. Where in Shreveport, do you ask? Well, to hell if I know.  
My car pulls up by its own accord in front of a bar called 'the Clover'. It has a dandy little neon sign with a leprechaun and four-leafed clover. I walk in and sure enough, the babble of different minds washes over me.

_Man, look at her tits…__  
Fuckin' homo! Look at him, rubbing up against that good fo' nothing…__I need a hit.  
I'm gonna fucking die. Fuck, fuck, fuck! I need a fucking hit!  
I wonder if Damien'll let me get a taste of that fine ass...  
I'll get another job, Clarice will understand… I hope she doesn't kick me out again..  
Just one more drink and I'll go home…_

I braced myself and smiled. I sauntered over to the barman (who looks like he should have a name tag reading "Hi, my name is DANGEROUS") and asked for a Cosmopolitan. I always wondered what they were like cause I never tried one. I'm not a big drinker. _Man, she is so pretty. I wonder if she'd dance with me. Nah... She'd laugh at me. Mama's right, I aint never gonna get a girl._ I take a sip of my Cosmo (thank you, Carrie Bradshaw) and turn towards the extremely loud broadcaster. He aint wasn't so bad. A little too tall and reed thin, Gran would've thought he never seen a day of hard work. He had nice dark brown hair, though. And strange yellow cats eyes.  
"Hey, I'm Sookie!" I said to him when I got uncomfortable. He was staring at me for what seemed like an hour.  
"Oh, H-hi! I'm Greg. Do you… Would ya like to?" He stuttered, nodding his head at the dance floor. I downed the rest of my drink and led him to the floor. Poor guy. I felt sorry for him.  
Besides, I sure do love to dance.

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Time was spinning around me like a carousel, and I was shaking my booty all over the dance floor. I even had a small crowd dancing around me. Greg was long gone. I forgot his excuse to leave (I think I scared him off with my Shakira-inspired dancing). Still, dancing like a lunatic was no excuse for what happened next; if I'd reached out with my mind, I could have seen trouble. I could've sensed that Tattoo Guy was gonna pull out his gun and shoot Tattoo Girl, who just happened to be dancing alongside me.

I saw Tattoo Guy pull out his .45 and aim at Tattoo Girl's back. I didn't know what to do. He had his finger on the trigger. His brain was a tangled red pulsating mass; he was angry as all get out. _Take this, stupid bitch, steal my stash I'll kill you!  
_I jumped on him just as he pulled the trigger.  
The bullet careened into the ceiling, blowing out the neon lights. People were screaming or standing stock-still, frozen in terror. Tattoo Girl must've known something was up (I was too concentrated on trying to wrestle Tattoo Guy's gun out of his hand—the next bullet had my name on it), cause she ran like the devil was after her, but not after pulling her own gun out and firing off in Tattoo Guy's- and my- direction.  
The second I could unwrap myself from Tattoo Guy's beefy frame I ran out to my car and drove off, burning tire. I didn't allow myself to think, not even to yell at my own stupidity. After all, I was still alive. The plan is therefore, still in motion.

Suddenly, I found myself parked in Fangtasia's car lot (I got lucky; there's never any parking thanks to the fangbangers), not at all sure how I got there. I expected to feel a surge of happiness when I walked through the front doors, from the bond, but I got nada. Zilch. Pam greeted me as I walked in. I didn't have to pay a cover. She raised her eyebrows at me, and mouthed "We will talk". Oh, joy unbounded. I went to the bar and asked Felicia for a Pinã Colada. I never had one of those either. This night was shaping into my losing my Exotic-Margarita-Virginity.  
There is no love lost between me and Fangtasia's newest bartender. Felicia served me my juicy goodness with a cold hard stare. Her fangs were out some, too. Not that I care, I've seen the fang display dozens of times before. I smiled at her toothily. My mood wasn't all that Christian at the moment; _Stupid bitch_ was what I was thinking. On my guard now (a little too late), I reached to see if anyone had an "I'm gonna kill everyone in the room" thought. Lucky for me, everyone seemed to be thinking about sex. Unlucky for me, _everyone_ seemed to be thinking about sex. Unsurprisingly, a large portion was the fangbangers.  
I felt something then that just about knocked me off my feet. A warmth spread all over my body (lingering in some places further south) making me all tingly and lightheaded. I felt like I was the luckiest girl in the world. Eric had arrived (which, in itself goes to show how _unlucky_ I really am—not that I'm complaining. I've got my plan after all). His beautiful long mane of blonde hair was tied in a ponytail and fanned over his back and he was wearing his black Fangtasia shirt and tight black leather pants. If I was a blasphemer, I would worship that ass.  
I resisted the urge to gulp. Those pants were cupping his derrière like they were made to. Actually, they probably were.  
Eric looked hot. No, more than that.  
Eric looked dangerous.  
And, coincidentally, danger was headed straight for me.

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"Sookie, you and I must talk," was all he said. No "Hi my lover! Remember me? We had mind-blowing sex a bunch of times the other day and then I disappeared for week without as much as a thank-you card!" He didn't waste time, my Eric, did he?  
Suddenly, Eric froze. His nostrils were flared; he was smelling gunpowder on me. I caught a glimpse of anger from his slithery, snakey, vampirey brain. I could see Eric register the fear I felt through our blood bond. I tried long and hard to hide the fact that I can occasionally read vampire minds. So far, it's only been Eric's mind. I don't know what to make of that. I also don't know what the Vamps would do if they knew about my extended talent.  
I blame my newly found ability on oh-so-encouraging Bill. I blame a lot of things on Bill. Which is a terrible thing to think especially cause right now, Bill is deathly sick. Something which wouldn't have happened if I didn't need saving from the Things. I was too inebriated to think fairly.  
Eric grabbed my upper arm with force that was stingingly painful and dragged me past Fangtasia's clientele— almost all of whom sent me envious glares. There was no use pulling back from Eric's clampdown on my arm, it'd be like trying to get out of a titanium bear trap with your hands soaked in oil.

Just as quickly as he'd grabbed me, Eric stopped in front of a room I'd never seen before.  
"What, is this the door to Narnia?" I asked snarkily. My arm hurt like hell, give me a break.  
Eric look nonplussed. Obviously, he didn't read C.S Lewis. Or watched the movie.  
"Why do you smell like gun residue?" Eric demanded, his blue eyes doing that sexy blazing thing. Like an ice fire.  
"I was out, not that I have to explain myself to you!"  
"Sookie, you do not understand. There is trouble afoot," Eric replied._  
Trouble afoot?_ In what badly made pirate film is he featuring in? Oh yeah, I forgot. Viking. _Hello Brain? Yeah, you suck. That's all._  
I think the margaritas have gone to my head—I've always been a lightweight.  
"Sure thing, Boss! Point me to the Batmobile and I'll skedaddle on home!" I retorted.  
Eric had really pissed me off, regardless of the ooey gooey feelings the bond made me feel and my little forte into the World of Drinking Alcohol only fuelled those thoughts. Serving drinks is one thing; drinking them yourself is another. Somewhere, I sort of felt sorry for Eric. He was face-to-face with Seething Sookie and even I think she's a bitch.  
"Sookie," Eric whispered angrily, his voice tinted with that feint accent of a world gone by, "There was an accident at the Shifter's bar. Dermot has left a message for you."  
At least, I think that's what Eric said.  
I'm not too sure, cause I sort of swayed onto the carpet and threw up (and I don't think it stemmed from my alcohol consumption).  
And then, everything faded into a sympathetic black.

****

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**Please, with a whip-cream topped Eric Northman on top?  
Yeah. Try to say no to **_**that **_**;) **


	3. Fangsations

**A/N- So I guess I didn't make the last chapter very clear, but I hope this one is much better. Hint, beta, hint (:**

**And WOW! We doubled the number of reviews! I'm taking that as a good sign ;)**

**Also, to my reviewers, I love you guys! It's like getting hugs whenever I read a review! Thanks for making my days, guys :)**

**I'm still changing stuff around with this story, so it might be a lot different to how it started out. Anyways, I'm determined to finish this one.  
I'm really sick, so I'm sorry I didn't send this up sooner. I've been Dead to the World (oh, I'm so not funny) (:**

**Disclaimer: No, SVM is not mine. If it was, I would've killed Bill (haha) in the first chapter. **

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**PPOV**

Sookie has the unnerving habit of throwing up on Eric. I added my mental tally to four.

My master is so adorable! I haven't seen those furrowed brows since Eric and I crept off the Mayflower as our passage into America. It's sweet in an unnatural way (or rather, _alive way)_ that Eric cares for Sookie and that feeling doesn't stem from the Three Vampire Emotions (colloquially known as Fangsations); Bloodlust, horny and angry. Anyway, back to the situation at hand. Sookie is being unreasonable, Eric is putting his neck out on the line for her (the Blonde Fairy means business) and all he expects is that she marries him.

Which, even I must say, seems like a fair trade.  
I was with him, that day, after the fairies had kidnapped Sookie. If I had a beating heart, it would have broken at Eric's red-rimmed eyes. He was _crying._ I don't know if it was because he _loves _her and couldn't bear to be without her, or because he could feel all that she felt- every pain and emotion passed through the bond. Eric was as tortured as Sookie was (however, his was all mental… He didn't have the luxury of seeing the Fairies killed).

I also happen to know that Eric's red eyes started the first moment Sookie decided Death was a welcome thing. I had never seen before this, a vampire in my 600 years that had felt anything that was unrelated to the Fangsations so strongly.

There is something about Sookie (that should be a movie! I could star as myself...) Eric could not have saved her had she not been something different; not even with their extraordinarily strong bond. Sookie is something not entirely human. Maybe it is the Fairy blood inside her? Although, that seems like a weak excuse; fae blood doesn't alter the bearer so wholly. All I know is she's a mystery. She could be a character in a supernatural Agatha Christie novel. I loved those… And the author was awfully intriguing too.  
At the moment, she is passed out on the couch— Alcohol and bad news toppled her over. Eric had thought to bring her to our "Secret Business Room" in case she launched into hysterics. It is soundproofed for a reason.

Oh, my fangs. Down (or rather, up) girls.

I wonder what our little Southern Belle would say if I told her what exactly Eric did? How he himself almost died for her? Eric would probably stake me first… But I still can't help but wonder… Would she be his then? Or would she continue her rather cliché 'I'm living dangerous because I don't want to relive traumatic experiences'.

The girl needs to pop some quality prescription medicine and be done with it.

Drugs might be just what the (figurative) doctor ordered. Sookie's going to need them pretty soon. Especially since we found the message… In her brother's blood. I could smell Werepanther mixed in the (like a body odour trying to be masked by deodorant—some of Fangtasia's redneck clientele stink like the shit they roll up in) ground. He fought and I'm assuming was hit by something very hard, like a crowbar or a baseball bat. The Panther couldn't change as it was not full moon; and he isn't pure. So, the Panther is gone. Dead? Most likely. It's only a matter of time until the body shows up somewhere. I hope Sookie isn't there when we find him. I like her— she is my only friend who isn't out lobbying for Eric's favour/money/power. Poor Eric (there are two words I'd never thought I'd think in reference to my Maker). I would hate to be in his position right now. He's trapped, like Sookie often says, between a rock and a hard place. And both of those places have tiny little wooden stakes headed straight for his heart.

Eric looks forlorn. He should be on the cover of a romance novel in those pants, like the homosexual fairy. He is _tasty. _Oops. Bad fangs!

I bought him the leather pants as a birthday present during Woodstock. Eric hates presents (he doesn't get to control what he gets). Eric also hates hippies (they offend his inner Viking—although gay men and transvestites do not?), so I saw it as a win-win situation. Hippies, we both agreed tasted… earthy. Like organic farm-fresh humans. But on the all-too-often occasion when we caught a drug addict, they had an unenjoyable bitter aftertaste. Like a tangy metallic flavour at the end of a sweet.

Sookie moaned and moved slightly in her stupor… I wonder what our sweet, innocent Southern Belle is dreaming about…  
_Eric look, Sleeping Beauty is waking up!_ I channelled. Eric had his face buried in his hands. He looked up sharply, ruining his perfect hair when he heard my (mental) voice. It's a shame I did not care for my Maker in the erotic sense— he is the Adonis of vampires with his chiselled body and large endowment he could literally be in a Harlequin.

Actually, wasn't Eric the inspiration for the soldier in the story with the Queen who cheats on her King with the soldier who belongs to a rival country? Or was that _Tristan et Isolde_?  
_Shut up Pam!_ Eric's stern voice warned me. Ooops. I didn't mean to channel that.  
Sookie slowly, dragged her eyes open like they were weighed down by anchors. If I said she looked tired, it would be like saying "Oh! The sky is dark at night!"  
She had paled beneath her tan. Her scars popped out of her skin on her arm like white in a sea of black. I could just imagine her legs-- not in the way I used to, however. Small white marks that run much deeper than the human eye can see; the literal roots to her fear. Eric scooped Sookie up like a ragdoll and clutched her to his chest. As a vampire (and as a sexually experienced woman) I have no compunction in saying that if someone that looked like Eric held me like that when I was a dainty little virgin girl with a beating heart, I would've fucked them where they stood.

"Sookie, open your eyes. It's just me and Pam. Everything's alright. You're going to be fine. I've got you, _shhhhh…"_ Eric cooed.

Eric. Cooed.

So, needless to say, I left. I crept out of our dungeon—I mean 'Secret Business Room' when I saw her expression. She looked desperate. And if I know anything about my maker, I know that Eric loves that look. It's an "I need a big strong man to save me" look—plus Eric has got strong and manly in spades. But, Sookie's never exhibited the "Damsel in Distress" face before; she was an Independent Woman, if any. I'm glad Eric did not share the experience with me.

Maybe I'm wrong about the desperate thing.  
Maybe they just love each other?

Probably. Eric did always love blondes.  


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**So, was this any better? Let me know— review!**


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